


Petrichor

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood Magic, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Rimming, Romance, Slow Burn, Witch AU, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have witchcraft in your lips"</p><p>― William Shakespeare, Henry V</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

He was soaked completely through by the time he finally managed to find the solitary cottage, the wooden structure the only source of shelter in what seemed like leagues. Hisoka grimaced. It had not been easy to find, despite what he had been told in town. Water sloshed in his boots and he shivered as a gust of wind tore through the clearing, rattling the myriad of chimes hanging about the windows. He wasted no time in letting himself inside.

Warmth wrapped around him the second he crossed the threshold. The inside was a sharp contrast to the outdoors, the simple furnishings and roaring fire as inviting as any storybook cottage. Books littered the shelves, stood in tall stacks around the bed, and almost completely buried the rickety desk in the corner. Though he dripped quite liberally with rainwater, he ran his fingers down the spines as he moved towards the fire, tracing the embossed edges as if it would let him better understand the esoteric languages within. If this were the witch’s house, and the place certainly made a good argument for it, it was very evident that the witch was knowledgeable.

Whether or not that translated to raw power had yet to be seen.

Hisoka hummed idly as he perused the place, tossing down his waterlogged pack and shucking his coat as he went. Dried bundles of plants hung from the fireplace and ceiling, low enough that he sometimes had to stoop or risk getting foliage stuck in his hair. He wondered if that meant the witch was short as he went through a trunk near the bed, pulling from it a towel. It smelled like sage, felt lily soft as he drew it through his hair and tried to dry off the best he could before he caught a chill.

With his nose buried in the minutiae of a witch’s abode, he failed to pick up on the door opening behind him.

“Oh. Hello there.”

Hisoka spun on his heel, throwing up an innocent smile to soften the fact that he had in fact invited himself in. “Good evening,” he replied, taking in the man by the door and the relaxed way he held himself in light of an unexpected guest. “Terrible weather out there. Sorry to intrude.” He let the towel hang around his neck after patting his face dry.

This had to be the witch. He was shorter than he expected, but it made sense he supposed. The fact that he was also young and beautiful was an unexpected delight. His eyes held no malice, just curiosity in their obsidian depths, resting below some dark tattoo against the plane of his forehead. The deep crimson of his cloak highlighted his paleness, painting him in a beautiful contrast.

“It’s always like this,” he said almost defensively, his eyes downcast. “Did you need something? I don’t get visitors very often.” As he spoke, he set down the basket he had propped on his hip. Hisoka couldn’t help but notice he was bone dry, his fingers red with what looked like blood. "And please stay away from that corner, I can't have your energy mixing with mine. I don't feel like replacing all of my craft materials this late at night."

Hisoka's smile grew wider and he settled against the mantelpiece, away from the simple workbench in question. The heat of the fire was a comforting warmth against his back. Delicate fingers sorted through the basket of herbs, swiftly separating and portioning out the plant matter on the worn tabletop. “I heard tell of a powerful witch living out here,” he gave vaguely as he touched the hanging bundles of drying herbs near his shoulder. They smelled wild, like spice and strength.

“Do you need a witch?” It was asked quietly, almost ruefully, and the supposed witch drew away from his sorting to look at Hisoka. His gaze was piercing. “Not everyone can find me. There is a very definite reason why you’re here, in my home.”

Hisoka grinned and stepped closer, wanting so much to feel if the blood was still wet on the witch’s skin. “You could say that.” Again he kept it vague, unwilling to ruin the game he was playing, even if he had come for a reason. “How powerful are you?”

Dark eyes took him in, indifferent and tired. Outside, the storm raged on, beating against the windows like a thousand pattering heartbeats. “Powerful enough.” He didn’t offer any more. The way he said it, it almost came off as threatening. A warning.

He didn’t take it as one, moving towards the bed to sit on the homey blankets with as much liberty as if he had been invited. “I fear I’m in need of a spell, something not easily conjured. I’m more than willing to give whatever you ask in payment,” he explained, looking up at the witch. Even from a yard away he could smell the magic on him, crackling like ozone and wilderness. The sheets were soft beneath his hands, at odds with the ferocity only somewhat contained.

“How about we start with a name?” came the reply, the witch raising a brow but not commenting on the stranger lounging on his bed. “I’m Chrollo.”

“Chrollo,” he rolled, relishing the way it curled on his tongue. “It’s lovely to meet you. As for my name, well. I would think a powerful witch could glean at least that much on their own,” Hisoka prodded. The challenge was thick, his relaxed posture only inviting it. “Please, humor me.”

The witch deadpanned, his hands resting on his hips. “You’re serious.”

Hisoka grinned. “If it’s not too much trouble. I wouldn’t want to strain your gifts.”

Chrollo sighed and drew closer with a whisper of his shroud-like robe, grabbing Hisoka’s hand from his lap with little ceremony or grace. “This might sting a bit,” he warned, though he didn’t wait for permission. A small blade seemed to condense from the air between them and fall into his hand. With one quick movement, he sliced the thin skin of Hisoka’s inner wrist as casually as if it were just another herb to be harvested.

The pain was negligible, barely a twinge, and Hisoka could tell the blade must have been immensely sharp. He was about to ask something, make a joke of the necessity of bloodletting, but the words stayed buried in his throat. Chrollo stared into his eyes, holding him in place as he brought the hand to his lips, licking the blood from his open wound while he whispered something inaudible against his skin.

Heat blossomed in his stomach, some dark combination of lust and magic tearing through his veins to collect where they were connected. Hisoka smiled bright, stricken.

“Hisoka,” he said as he licked the errant red from his clever mouth, dropping the hand with as much care as he had picked it up. “Your name is Hisoka.”

If the process drained him, he certainly didn’t show it. Hisoka, on the other hand, felt a decided lack of energy, as if something had been stolen from him besides his breath. “Well now. That was certainly impressive,” he breathed, giving in to the urge to touch the witch in front of him. The fingers were cool but the blood was tacky. He wondered to whom it belonged.

To his complete surprise, Chrollo didn’t pull away. He stared at his hand in Hisoka’s, a look of shock plain on his face.

“You’re…touching me.”

Hisoka cocked his head and drew his fingertips along the soft hand, tracing the heart line of his palm. He was no mystic but he could see the strength thrumming beneath delicate, pale skin. It swelled and ebbed in time to the storm outside. “I am,” he gave easily. “You touched me. Can I not do the same?”

“That was different.” He sounded uncertain, a little uncomfortable, but he still didn’t take his hand away. Their knees were almost touching, his warmth bleeding through the damp fabric of Hisoka’s clothing. Chrollo kept his eyes locked on Hisoka’s, unwilling to be the first to waver.

His eyes narrowed with his smile and Hisoka laughed, cradling the hand to his cheek. “I like different. And I think I like you. Could you tell anything else from that little trick?”

Chrollo bit his lip but smiled despite it. His thumb stroked across Hisoka’s cheekbone, furtive and light as if he had to steal the contact. “A few things,” he answered, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re a rather…interesting person.”

“Do tell,” Hisoka murmured, moving the hand to press a kiss to the witch’s inner wrist. His lips parted like a blade and he hoped his tongue felt as sharp.

“Well, for starters,” Chrollo began, his mouth quirking into a crooked smile. “I think you need a witch.”

oOo

It was raining again.

Hisoka woke slowly to the sound of raindrops against the windows and the scent of sage on the sheets below him. He breathed deep as he stretched, noting that he was all alone in the witch’s home again. The basket was missing from the floor and that was telling enough.

“For a spell that involved,” Chrollo had mused the night before, leaning on the edge of his table. “I’d think we’ll need at least a month to prepare.” He reached for a book, though how he knew it was the one he wanted, Hisoka couldn’t tell. His finger traced down the page, his lips moving silently as he read. “Yeah, there are ingredients here that can only be harvested at certain moon phases, not to mention your involvement.”

“My involvement? Why would you need me?”

Chrollo raised a brow, breaking away from his book. “Do you have any idea of the scope of this spell? What you’re expecting me to do? I need to know you to be able to make this work, Hisoka. You’re going to have to stay here until I get a handle on who you are and how your spirit feels.” He spoke as if incredulous that Hisoka didn’t seem to know that.

Hisoka had simply smiled, already feeling at home.

The floor was pleasantly warm beneath his bare feet and he pulled on his boots, combing through his sleep mussed hair with his fingers. There was no note, no indication of where Chrollo had run off to. He felt himself smile. He loved hide and seek.

Outside greeted him as welcomingly as it had the night before, the storm coming down tirelessly. Dark clouds roiled above and sunlight barely cut through. Taking a deep breath, Hisoka plunged into the deluge. Any tracks that may have led to Chrollo had long since been obliterated, but the forest looked promising. He only hoped the weather might clear. It was hard to imagine living in a place constantly under siege by the elements. Dreary.

The trees seemed to accept him kindly, their branches embracing him fully the moment he crossed into the woods. There was no sun, the wane light able to breach the cloud cover completely smothered beneath the boughs of the great evergreens and firs. Hisoka hummed as he entered deeper, letting his instincts guide him. The forest was a little drier than the clearing but it was a little too late to do him much good. He was soaked through before he made it to the next open area, his hair sticking to his neck as fat rain drops fell from the tips of branches.

A meadow greeted him with the thin light, small and idyllic. Despite the constant rain, the foliage thrived, stood green and healthy and not at all drowned. Soft clover covered the ground like a comforter, patches of other plants creeping up here and there. The air was sweet, clean with the rain and earthy like untouched wild.

It came as no surprise to find Chrollo here, laid out on the forest floor like something from a fairy tale. The deep red of his hooded cloak stood out brilliantly in the somber forest green, drawing him like a moth to brilliant flame. Hisoka drew closer and held his breath, as if approaching a wild animal on a hunt. Chrollo was all pale skin and lazy grace, napping on his side with his robe drawn up around him like a blanket. He looked at home in the clover, like an integral part of the forest itself. The casual placement of his harvest basket, the soft bed of herbs around him; Hisoka felt his heart beat loud in his chest. The witch must have just nodded off, having grown sleepy from the lullaby of rain and the gentle scent of the plants around him.

The inherent defenselessness of it all was enough to make Hisoka salivate, so of course he moved closer.

He ignored the water as it quickly soaked though his clothing, kneeling by the sleeping witch. Chrollo was again perfectly dry, the rain evaporating before it touched his skin. An inquisitive swipe of his hand revealed that the ground where he lay was dry as well, as if it had been spared the rain for his comfort. Was it a spell? Some peculiarity? Hisoka pressed closer, stroking his fingers through soft raven hair.

Chrollo mumbled in his sleep but didn’t quite wake up. Growing wetter and colder by the second, Hisoka moved to cup his cheek, feel the warm line of his throat beneath the edge of his cloak. Water dripped from his sleeve onto his skin, rousing him far more than the touching had.

“Wha—” he mumbled, sleep bleary and confused. His fingers came up to meet Hisoka’s on instinct before his eyes focused. “Oh, it’s you. Did you need something?”

Hisoka smiled down at him and brushed the dark bangs from his equally dark eyes. “Does this happen often for you? Falling asleep out in the open, where anyone might stumble upon you?” he asked instead. If he wasn’t mistaken, Chrollo seemed to curl into his touch.

His skin grew warmer as he flushed a bit, turning his eyes towards the copse of trees to Hisoka’s back. Hisoka didn’t fight him as he sat up, just moved with him. “I don’t keep normal hours. Some things need tending at odd times, it just helps to nap when I can. When I feel tired,” he explained, finally pulling his eyes back up to meet Hisoka’s. His brow furrowed. “You look half drowned. Why didn’t you just stay inside?”

Before he could reply, Chrollo pulled another knife from the air, slicing his own wrist this time. Hisoka sat back and watched as he whispered against the welling blood, the mark on his forehead glowing faintly as he channeled his power. “Here,” he murmured, using his fingertip to paint his blood onto Hisoka’s neck. “How’s that?”

All at once the rain seemed to stop. Hisoka frowned and looked skywards and saw that the storm hadn’t ceased in its entirety, just that it had ceased coming down on him. That was one question answered. Cool fingers traced over his clothing and he looked back to the witch to find his clothing dry, warm as if it had never felt the touch of the rain.

“How clever,” he remarked, rewarding the witch with a gentle stroke to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Chrollo flushed a little again, from the gratitude or the contact he couldn’t quite tell. “It’s nothing. Really.” His dark eyes flickered towards his basket and then to the sky above, as if he could judge the time through the blanket of clouds.

“Do you need help with anything?” Hisoka asked, picking up on the signals. Chrollo was antsy, probably unsure of how to hold himself around another person.

“You want to help me?”

He smiled, standing. “I’d like to. Perhaps we can begin getting to know each other while we’re at it,” he said with his hand outstretched.

Chrollo stared with confusion heavy upon his brow. A cool, hesitant hand touched his palm. “I…I think I’d like that.”

In the second it took for him to help the witch to his feet, Hisoka swore he saw a break in the clouds.

oOo

“You do this _every_ day?”

Chrollo dropped the basket onto the tabletop with more force than strictly necessary before turning to acknowledge Hisoka. The tension in his body had been building the entire day, growing steadily sharper until it threatened to snap. “It’s really not that labor intensive. I don’t understand why you’re being so whiny.”

Hisoka frowned loudly and threw himself onto Chrollo’s bed, burying his face in the sheets the way a child would. He wasn’t wet at least, but that alone didn’t cheer him up. “It’s not that it’s hard work, Chrollo. It’s boring is what it is.”

“How old are you again? Because from how you sound, I’d guess six,” Chrollo shot back, sorting the herbs into his familiar piles. They had found mostly tubers today but there were several types of mushrooms as well. “Not everything is sparks and spells, Hisoka. A lot of prep work goes into the big ones.”

Rolling his eyes, Hisoka sat up and watched the witch work. Nimble fingers sorted through the ingredients, fearless in the face of the poison laid out before him. There was no blood this time to distract from the delicate way he moved. For a moment, Hisoka felt entranced.

“You’re touching me again.”

Hisoka’s eyes widened, realizing that he had moved without thinking. His hands were warm on Chrollo’s narrow hips, his chin hooked on a stiff shoulder to watch him work. He smiled into the soft warmth of Chrollo’s neck, chuckling when the witch jumped at the proximity.

“I like touching you. This is how I get to know people,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Chrollo’s waist to force them flush together. Soft hair brushed his cheek and he smelled sage. “Am I distracting you?”

Chrollo was silent for a heavy moment, still trying to sort the day’s harvest. “No, no, I’m fine,” he insisted, resolutely ignoring the flush growing on his cheeks.

“Are you now? Then I hope you realize you’ve been sorting the nightcaps in with the button mushrooms.” He teased in a whisper and laughed when Chrollo grew stiff like a tree in his arms. “I’m not sure how much I’d appreciate eating poison for dinner.”

His pierced ears a furious red, Chrollo fixed the piles before turning in Hisoka’s arms to look him in the eye. “Then you can make dinner yourself while I finish doing the boring work.” He pushed at Hisoka’s chest, only somewhat hesitant to put his hands on Hisoka properly. “I want meat tonight.”

Laughing lightly, Hisoka pulled them closer for a moment, if only to make Chrollo yelp in surprise as he nuzzled him against his cheek. “No vegetables? You’re certainly carnivorous for someone who spends so much time buried in plants.” He pulled away and pretended he didn’t notice Chrollo almost following.

After a week or so of cohabitation, Hisoka had grown familiar with Chrollo’s home. The small cabinets held the pots and pans for cooking, the drawers the ones for spellcraft. Hisoka went for the stew cauldron, humming as Chrollo defended his eating habits to the bundles of herbs and vegetation.

A handful of mushrooms levitated past his head, nearly smacking him in the face before he caught them in the pot.

“Here,” Chrollo sniped, wiping his hands on his robe. “Have your precious vegetables.”

Hisoka raised a brow, couldn’t seem to stop the smile creeping wider on his face. And Chrollo had the audacity to call him a child.

“What?” the witch snapped, trying to hide his flustered state in the routine act of bottling and bundling the plants for storage.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Hisoka assuaged, turning to put the pot over the fire.

\---

“You know, I think the rain is beginning to let up,” Hisoka declared, the sound of the storm only a dim whisper through the trees. Chrollo was warm at his side and he didn’t resist the urge to wrap an arm around him and pull him closer.

Instead of a reply or embarrassment, Chrollo remained silent. He had fallen asleep with his empty bowl in his lap, curled against Hisoka’s side beneath the awning of his cottage.

Hisoka watched the stars peek out from patches in the clouds with a begrudging smile.

He was definitely becoming bewitched.

oOo

“You really shouldn’t fall asleep outside. What if someone came upon you with ill intent?”

Chrollo shot him a put upon look before laying his head back down on his companion’s thigh. “Shut up, Hisoka,” he mumbled. A moment later found him asleep.

Well then, Hisoka thought. It would certainly serve the witch right if he were to have some fun.

Hours later and Hisoka was threading in and out of sleep, his back pressed against the tree Chrollo had declared ideal for napping. The rain came down lightly, almost a comforting haze. A rumble sounded in the distance like the far off call of thunder. Chrollo woke with a start.

Hisoka smiled down at him, yawning away his own sleep-muddled lethargy. “Good morning there. Sleep well?” he whispered, unwilling to break the quiet mood.

“What did you do to my hair?” the witch mumbled, his hand coming up to tug at the tiny little braids. Bits of leather and colorful fabric were woven into the locks, manifesting in a wild mess. Sitting up, he felt the scope of the accessories, his dark eyes growing wide.

He just looked so surprised by the little trick that Hisoka didn’t even try to resist the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him.

It was as if the sky had opened up, unleashing a torrent around them. Hisoka paid it no mind though, protected as they were by Chrollo’s magic. The witch tasted like shock and sage, like wilderness and power unseen, and he felt his tongue search for more, moaning lowly when Chrollo opened up to let him.

Chrollo shook beneath his hands and mouth, his fingers locked in Hisoka’s shirt. Wind tore past them, pushing him further into Hisoka’s arms and it was then that he chose to break the kiss.

“You…you kissed me,” Chrollo stammered, his face red and his lips inviting.

“I did. Can I not do that?”

In reply, Chrollo surged into his arms, sealing their lips together for more.

Around them, the weather seemed to settle, the sun finally peeking out.

oOo

“I need to go check some things,” Chrollo murmured in the dark. His hands tugged at Hisoka’s arms but he wasn’t very successful in freeing himself.

Hisoka rolled over, pressing his cheek to the witch’s soft hair. Chrollo was so warm in his arms, his skin so lovely beneath his fingertips where he had them pressed. He shushed him and held him tighter.

Chrollo huffed and wriggled against the mattress. “Hisoka, come on. I can only get the cypress during this moon phase. This is for your spell, have some common sense,” he complained, turning his back to Hisoka as he clawed at the blankets for freedom.

It was all too easy for Hisoka to roll again, pinning Chrollo beneath him with a childish whine. “Chrollo, it’s late,” he groaned, pressing kisses to the witch’s neck, his hair, the cheek that turned back towards him as he struggled. “Stay with me some more. I’ll get cold if you leave.”

“You liar, you’re a furnace.” He grunted a little, the noise morphing into the smallest of moans when Hisoka finally found his mouth. A shiver ran through him and Hisoka smiled, grazing his lips with a skillful slowness.

“I’ll let you up if you give me a kiss,” he teased, so close he could feel the moment when Chrollo stopped breathing, his eyes wild and his cheeks flushed red.

“You just got one!” he shot back, hissing to hide his flustered state.

Hisoka hummed and ran his hand through Chrollo’s hair, reveling in the warm softness that greeted him. “But I kissed you. I want you to kiss me,” he complained a little childishly. “Or, we could just stay like this until morning. I’d be happy with that too, but it’s ultimately your choice.”

Avoiding eye contact, Chrollo tightened his fingers in the sheets. “I could force you to move,” he reasoned, trying to be firm though his breathlessness betrayed him. “I could send you flying with hardly a thought.”

“But you won’t.” Hisoka brushed the bangs from dark eyes and kissed the tattoo on his forehead. “Just one little kiss, Chrollo. I’ll even make it easier for you. One little kiss, just on my cheek.”

He could practically hear Chrollo thinking it over, the short little breaths of air coming quicker when Hisoka met his eyes.

“You have to close your eyes,” Chrollo demanded, his face a delightfully embarrassed shade of pink. Dark eyes met yellow and he turned in Hisoka’s arms so his back met the sheets, his face so resolute.

“Okay, okay,” Hisoka granted, closing his eyes with a smile. They were so close, the dark so quiet, that he could feel Chrollo hesitate just shy of his cheek. With a practiced move, he turned just as Chrollo surged forward, meeting his lips with his own.

Opening his eyes, he saw Chrollo’s full of surprise, a bit of anger. Hisoka laughed into the kiss, pressing closer so he could deepen it. Despite his frustration at being tricked, Chrollo merely glared before the expression melted into hazy want.

Lazily they kissed, Chrollo moving to wrap his arm around his neck. Hisoka tangled his fingers in the soft black hair, angling Chrollo’s head up. They had only been doing it for a day, maybe two, but Hisoka figured he could spend the rest of his life exploring Chrollo’s mouth and still die fulfilled. Petal soft lips seemed to beg him to try and Hisoka closed his eyes, settling his thigh between Chrollo’s spread legs.

Sadly though, he knew Chrollo would never sit still long enough to make that blissful existence a reality.

Smacking his hands against his shoulders, Chrollo broke away with a ragged gasp. “Don’t…don’t distract me, Hisoka. I still need to get up,” he tried, though he said it against Hisoka’s lips, acting as if he wasn’t arching against the muscled thigh. “You got your kiss. Pay up.”

Staring down at him, Hisoka smiled. “Perhaps I could convince you to stay a bit longer,” he breathed, diving in for another mind-numbing kiss. Outside, he could hear the soft pitter patter of rain against the roof top, so light it hardly registered above their shared breathing.

Chrollo had a moment to look curious, confused, before Hisoka moved his attention down his cheek, past his ear, and along his neck. The witch’s head fell to the side, dark eyes closing. Delicate fingers scrambled for purchase on Hisoka’s bare skin. Hisoka smiled against his skin as he went lower, loving how touch-hungry Chrollo always was, how he seemed to drink it all in until he became intoxicated.

“Hisoka,” Chrollo moaned, bringing his own hand to his mouth to hide himself from laughing yellow eyes.

Tugging the hem of Chrollo’s shirt up, Hisoka dragged his mouth along the smooth, warm plane of his ribs. All along Chrollo’s skin lay markings, a vast array of designs and inked lines. He raised a brow but didn’t ask, too eager to taste the skin to risk having it denied to him. His hands devoured the exposed skin, hiking the fabric under Chrollo’s chin. Every touch left shivers in their wake, each touch another impatient fidget. He tasted witchcraft heavy on his tongue and Chrollo gasped, pulling him up for a kiss.

“Still feel the urge to leave?” he asked, so close now that only his bracketed arms kept them from falling completely into each other.

Chrollo glared as heatedly as he could and nipped Hisoka’s lips.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

oOo

Steam rose off the water and Hisoka could already see Chrollo blushing through the mist.

“Come on, the water’s fine,” he called, relaxing into the hot springs with a sigh.

Chrollo lingered by the edge, fingers tangled hesitantly in the hem of his robe. “I know its fine, Hisoka, I made it.” He tried to sound sharp but the heat and calming scent of the herbs dancing on the surface of the water made everything a bit murky.

Hisoka gave a rueful smile and waded over towards the reluctant witch, lifting up and out of the water enough to kiss him. “And you did a wonderful job. You’re so clever.” Chrollo fell into it, his nervousness manifesting in a need for contact. With his hands gentle, Hisoka tugged at the edge of the robe, coaxing it off the witch slowly, littering kisses as he went. “Let me see you,” he breathed, taking in Chrollo’s beautifully bare skin. “You’re so gorgeous like this.”

Fidgeting on the edge, Chrollo held the probing hands in his own before they could reach the waistband of his trousers. “Hisoka,” he whined, biting his lip. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he gave, nuzzling Chrollo’s knee with his cheek. “Come on, join me. It’s lonely in here by myself.”

Confliction was heavy on Chrollo’s face but he didn’t say no, simply dug his teeth deeper into his lip and pushed Hisoka away. “Just…don’t look,” he replied, his face flushed.

Hisoka swallowed the laugh that threatened to break free and instead turned around, showing Chrollo his back. He even covered his eyes with his hands, just to give further assurance that he wouldn’t peek. Behind him he heard the telltale sound of a zipper, the quiet rustling of fabric being shucked and folded. A splash, small and light, told him that Chrollo had finally gotten in and he took it as permission to turn around.

If anything, Chrollo had gotten more flustered without him watching. The flowers and delicate herbs swirled lazily, parting as he waded closer to the witch pressed against the warm stone edge. Below the water was obscured but what lay above was more than enough to entice. Hisoka joined Chrollo against the side, resting next to him so their arms brushed.

“Thank you for this,” Hisoka whispered, laying the ghost of a kiss against Chrollo’s warm cheek. Beneath the water, their hands entwined. “It must have taken a lot from you.”

Unconsciously, Chrollo rubbed at the large gash on his arm, the cut clean but still raw. “It was nothing,” he gave. “I’ve done bigger things, given more. And I wanted to do it. It makes you happy.”

There was nothing spectral about the kiss Hisoka now gave. He pulled Chrollo closer by their joined hands, resting his free one on Chrollo’s cheek. The heat seemed to build between them, the soft sounds of moving water like music beneath their breathing. Chrollo moaned against Hisoka’s lips, some needy plead for more of what he was always willing to give.

“You make me happy,” Hisoka whispered like a secret, moving his hands beneath the water to touch Chrollo’s chest, his stomach, his thighs. “Your power, skill. Those are just pieces. It’s all of you, Chrollo. I see you and I want all of you.”

Chrollo went furiously red and tried to look anywhere but at the man touching him so gently. “Hisoka, please,” he stammered, shaking a bit despite the heat. “I’m just—”

Hisoka seized him by the thighs and in one quick move, had Chrollo up against the smooth stone ledge.

“When we met you told me what I came for, Chrollo,” he stated, pinning the witch in place with his eyes while his hands massaged the tense thighs. He didn’t continue, but Chrollo seemed to understand regardless.

His arms wrapped around Hisoka’s neck for support, but he still looked shaken. “You needed a witch,” Chrollo murmured, his dark eyes swimming with words unspoken.

“I needed you.”

Hisoka hardly gave Chrollo time to process that before hefting him up, spinning him so his front rested on the stone ledge. The witch gave an undignified yelp, some surprised cry that abruptly morphed into a mortified whine when Hisoka spread his ass and licked into him with no warning. Hisoka held him in place and gave long, hard passes with the flat of his tongue until Chrollo stopped thrashing. Then, he held him tighter and began to press inside with the tip of his tongue and a finger.

“Ahhh, Hisoka,” Chrollo moaned, tearing at the grass and stone with his nails as if trying to escape. “Oh, gods please, Hisoka, I can’t!”

Withdrawing his tongue but not his finger, Hisoka licked his messy lips and added another. “You can’t? But Chrollo, you feel so lovely. Doesn’t it feel good?” he asked, pumping his fingers in a way that he knew would draw out more noises. From this angle he could see every single one of Chrollo’s impressive tattoos, see the way the hexed ink curled around his hips and along his thighs in thick, organic vines. He drew his tongue over the marks nearest to them and swore he could taste electricity.

He craned his neck and saw that Chrollo had buried his face in his crossed arms, his shoulders shaking from want. Another finger joined the others and Chrollo’s breathing hitched, his hips coming back for more. In no time at all he was fucking himself on Hisoka’s hand, the water around them making noisy waves as their movements became more frantic.

“Hisoka, Hisoka,” Chrollo kept saying, repeating it like a mantra in time to his abortive thrusts. Overhead the sky lit bright with lightening, the markings on pale skin glowing silver in the moonlight. “Oh gods, Hisoka please give me more,” he groaned, spreading his legs wider.

For a moment he almost felt like teasing, like dragging it out until Chrollo fell to pieces in his arms, but even he was beginning to feel pent up by the growing need. Hisoka gave a few more pumps of his hand, leaning forward to nip the shell of Chrollo’s ear. “We need something slick,” he crooned, punctuating the statement with a calculated jab to the spot inside that sent the witch reeling.

“Gi-give me your hand,” Chrollo managed through broken breathes, snatching it from the air as soon as it came close. Hisoka watched, spellbound, as Chrollo brought it to his lips, whispering against the tips of his fingers. The marks along his skin glowed bright for a moment before dimming, and Hisoka took back his hand, the palm and fingers coated in a shimmering, slippery liquid.

“What a nifty trick,” he remarked, readying his hard cock while he rewarded Chrollo with a few more devastating moves of his hand. “Do you do that often, when you touch yourself?”

Chrollo was beyond answering, though the red tips of his ears peeking through his hair said enough. Hisoka laughed a little and retracted his fingers, using them instead to hold Chrollo in place. The head of his cock teased at Chrollo’s entrance, rubbing and sliding along the sensitive skin. He could feel Chrollo shaking beneath him and he held him closer, kissing every inch of him he could reach.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, pushing just the head inside, holding the witch still as he thrashed and tried for more. “Chrollo, you’re breathtaking.”

“Then _move_ ,” Chrollo grated, far too strung out for more teasing. “Please, Hisoka, fuck me.”

The water seemed cold in comparison to Chrollo when Hisoka thrust inside, his arms shaking as he fought to control the impulse to just chase the pleasure. He fell forward, his forehead resting on Chrollo’s back, and he let the witch adjust, contenting himself with biting and sucking his own marks into the pale skin beneath him.

Slowly he began to move, listening to every sound for a note of discomfort. Chrollo opened up beautifully around him, taking him so deeply and smoothly that Hisoka almost felt faint. The pace increased, Chrollo crying out when he hit the spot again.

Desperate to see the pleasure play out across the witch’s face, Hisoka stopped his measured thrusts. With some maneuvering and a broken moan, Hisoka moved Chrollo to face him, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Dark hair and darker eyes showcased a wanton mess. Chrollo cried out again, fisting his hands in Hisoka’s hair to pull him closer for a breath-stealing kiss. Hands scrambling for purchase on his wet skin, he clung closer and Hisoka shuddered, praying for it to never end.

Above them, the stars seemed to fall like rain.

oOo

Chrollo stared down at him, unimpressed and impatient. Hisoka met his gaze, a bright and innocent smile on his face. “What can I do for you, Chrollo?” he asked, resting back on his arms, the bundle of flowers balanced on his crossed legs.

Tapping his foot, Chrollo frowned. “What are you doing, Hisoka? I told you to harvest the herbs, not play with flowers.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m making flower chains. This one is for you,” he laughed, carefully holding one up for the witch hovering above. It was bright, colorful, and made as nicely as he knew how. Chrollo took it with careful fingers and a raised brow.

“Are these…” Chrollo took in the buds and flowers, his eyes going wide for a moment before relaxing into something softer.

Hisoka smiled and went back to working on his own, still half assembled in his lap. “Hydrangeas, lavender, delphinium, and baby's breath,” he recited, his eyes flickering up from his work when Chrollo sat down next to him, the soft line of his shoulder a comforting pressure against his side. “I thought it would suit you.”

Above them, the clouds parted and the sun shone warmly on them both, lighting the copse in a verdant glow. Chrollo leaned against his shoulder, tying another knot in the chain to make it a crown. It settled gently against his hair, the bright pink of the hydrangea caressing his cheek.

“Would you teach me?” he asked quietly, trailing his fingers over the petals of a lilac, an aster. “I want to make one for you too.”

“What about the herbs?” Hisoka teased even as he wrapped an arm around Chrollo’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Flowers blanketed their knees, tumbling from Hisoka’s into Chrollo’s in a waterfall of colors.

Laying his hand over Hisoka’s, Chrollo smiled gently at the flowers.

“Please?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this one kinda got away from me so let me know how you liked it, im really eager to know what it reads like. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and please comment! until next time~


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